


Queue Me A Kiss

by spatialsoloist



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, I am very gomen, this is the best that I can come up with at 1 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spatialsoloist/pseuds/spatialsoloist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets 3000 followers on his blog. Sherlock pretends to be disinterested, but really, he’s just jealous because he followed John’s blog first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queue Me A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Voodooling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voodooling/gifts).



> Congratulations to Sam (voodooling.tumblr.com) for hitting 3k followers on tumblr because she's basically fab! Please continue to draw your beautiful art for us in the future! We all truly love it!
> 
> Also the title doesn’t even apply here until like the end why did I even name it this but you gotta admit it sounds kinda cute UuU

[Friday Night]

 

“Oh!” John exclaimed out of the blue. “Will you look at that?”

 

“Look at what?” Sherlock muttered as he made a fine cut into the random leg lying in his surgical tray.

 

“My blog! It’s reached 3000 followers!”

 

That, of all things, got Sherlock’s attention. The consulting detective swiveled around on his chair, eyes narrowed behind his goggles. “Your blog? That thing reached 3k followers?”

 

“Yes, it has,” John replied, looking rather pleased once the initial surprise had passed. “Apparently people like what I post. This is exciting.”

 

“Hardly,” Sherlock scoffed, crossing his arms. “All you ever blog about is me; I make up approximately 99.78% of all your posts, so if you really thing about it, all those bored Internet junkies out there are only following you because of me.”

 

“I don’t see you with 3000 followers on your blog,” John said with a hint of smugness. “Admit it, I have a way with words that you don’t.”

 

“I doubt it. Have you written any poetry lately?”

 

John’s face reddened slightly as he hissed, “Those were private, Sherlock, and you shouldn’t have read them.”

 

“Always with the angst, John. And there’s only so many words you can rhyme _sad_ , _lonesome_ , and _tears_ with.”

 

“Well, I do know something that those words don’t rhyme with!” John said hotly, shutting his laptop nosily.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“ _Bed_ ,” the ex-solider snapped, hauling himself off the couch. “You can sleep on the sofa tonight, Sherlock.”

 

And before he could say another word, John stomped off for bed and slammed the door after him, leaving Sherlock to sit by his desk, dumbfounded.

 

“Preposterous. Why is he so angry over the significance of the number of followers? It’s only a number, isn’t it?” the detective muttered to himself. “Isn’t it?”

 

The leg did not reply.

 

+

 

[Saturday Morning]

 

John was leaving the flat just as Sherlock jolted awake the next morning, stiff-necked and slightly chilled after a night spent of the lumpy sofa with only the spare blanket in the closet for warmth. It was just a bit too short, so his feet stuck out and his toes were frozen. Sitting up and stretching, the detective barely had a moment to contemplate whether or not it would be safe to chase John down and ask for forgiveness in the most roundabout way possible when his phone buzzed to life.

 

_We need you at the Yard ASAP_

_-Lestrade_

 

Sherlock scowled.

 

_Can’t it wait? I’m busy._

_-SH_

 

Lestrade’s reply was lightning quick. A real case, then.

 

_No time. Please come ASAP not gonna ask again_

_-Lestrade_

 

_No._

_-SH_

The next response took another moment to arrive, and by then Sherlock had already shaved and pulled on a shirt and did up the buttons of his coat, ready to trail after John in a hopeful attempt to placate his partner. The phone buzzed in his pocket just as he wrapped the scarf around his neck.

 

_Molly promised to give you the body leftover from the Miller case. How about that?_

_-Lestrade_

 

Oh, the sheer temptation. Sherlock grappled with himself for a moment before typing out a reply.

 

_Will be there in fifteen. Keep the body frozen. You owe me one._

_-SH_

 

John wouldn’t mind. He was probably trying out morning Tai Chi with Mrs. Hudson down by the park anyway.

 

+

 

[Saturday Mid-Afternoon]

 

“Time of death would be yesterday night, around 9:30 pm, check the weather forecast for the exact time because the shirt got soaked; she must’ve been left out in the rain for some time. It’s expensive cashmere, our very on London-style acid rain has clearly left its mark. Dressed like that, she went to a frat party hoping to impress but got her hopes up for no reason. There’s a stain on the sleeve that any self-respecting fashionista would never let happen to them, but she obviously didn’t care anymore and if you look athernailsthereisapossiblitythatshe—”

 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down there hot shot,” Lestrade interrupted, his eyebrows pinched. “Are you in some kind of a rush?”

 

“As it is, yes,” Sherlock huffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The sun had risen high into the sky was, and it was starting to feel a little uncomfortable around the collar. But more importantly, John should be home by now, unless he was out to get the milk. Again.

 

“Why didn’t you say something then?” Lestrade asked, and Donavan rolled her eyes.

 

“I did text you saying that I was busy.”

 

“With what?” the sergeant demanded. “Can’t see you having a Saturday night plans that doesn’t involve either gutting a body or shagging John Watson.”

 

“Aren’t you the skilled observer,” Sherlock sneered. “And as it so happens, I need to talk to John, so I’d appreciate it if we’d all hurry this up a little and go about our merry way.”

 

“What do you need to talk to John about?”

 

“That’s none of your business.”

 

“It is my business if you’re going to give me a half-arsed report over the body,” Lestrade pointed out, but Donovan laughed.

 

“Oh, I know what this is. Sherlock Holmes has relationship troubles,” she said gleefully. “C’mon, lay it on us, what’s the big deal? Did you rub John’s feathers the wrong way again?”

 

“We’re getting off topic,” Sherlock hissed, but now Lestrade was interested as well.

 

“Did you forget to buy the milk? Or toilet paper?”

 

“No, we stocked up on those things!” Sherlock said crossly.

 

“Did your fungus colony grow out of control again?”

 

“No, it didn’t! It was a one time thing!”

 

“You didn’t burn his underpants again, did you? ‘Cause that was a weird thing to do—”

 

“He made fun of John about the amount of followers on his blog!” Lestrade exclaimed, looking stunned. “Sherlock! That’s rude!”

 

“It is not— wait, how did you know about that?!”

 

“I texted John,” Lestrade snorted, waving his phone. “I heard he made you sleep on the couch too.”

 

Donovan burst into a fit of giggles as Sherlock scowled, cheeks pink. “So what if he did? And so what if he has 3000 followers now, or whatever?”

 

“That’s quite an achievement,” Lestrade shrugged. “Especially if it’s a blog full of posts about a boring person like you.”

 

“What’s that supposed to me?” Sherlock demanded.

 

“Oh, you are such a freak,” Donovan snickered. “Listen here, idiot, within all human beings is this innate need to be loved and worshipped. We all want to be Internet kings and queens with followers who like our posts, comment on our pictures, and make fanart dedicated to you. John has reached an important stage in his online career where he has the power and capability to start taking over the world, slowly and surely and if you don’t get back on his good side, you’re going to regret it.”

 

“That is ridiculous,” Sherlock spluttered.

 

“She’s right, you know,” Lestrade said rather unhelpfully. “If John posts his rage about you online, you can say goodbye to your measly 20 followers.”

 

“Hey! All the different types of tobacco are interesting, okay?” Sherlock said indignantly, sweeping his scarf over his shoulder. “I won’t stand by and listen to your insults any longer. I’m going to find John. Good luck with this case, Lestrade.”

 

“We’ll be fine,” the DI said airily, waving the detective off as Donovan snorted with laughter. “Off you go to grovel, Holmes.”

 

Sherlock glowered and took off.

 

He was totally unfollowing those two the minute he got home.

 

+

 

[Saturday Late-Afternoon]

 

John was sitting on the couch with a cup of chai tea, reading the paper as he relaxed in the warm sun, and Sherlock couldn’t help but marvel in the peaceful calmness of his partner wisely spending his Saturday afternoon in tranquility.

 

At least, that’s what John looked like before he shrieked in surprise and poured his drink down his front.

 

“Sherlock! For the love of arse— you scared me! What is your problem! You can’t just barge in like that! Jeez— my favourite seater too,” John added mournfully, dabbing uselessly at his front.

 

Sherlock took three steps forwards, and grabbed John’s hands.

 

“I can follow you, you know.”

 

“What?” John asked, confused.

 

“I can follow you. Donovan said it’s in a human’s nature to want to be worshipped and recognized, so I’ll follow you everywhere if that’s what you want,” Sherlock deadpanned. “I’ll follow you to those ridiculous Tai Chi practices in the morning. I’ll follow you to the store to get milk. I’ll follow you when you grab take out after work. I’ll follow you into the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, the toilet—”

 

“Alright alright, stop right there,” John interrupted, prying Sherlock’s hands off him. “What on earth are you blabbering about? You can’t follow me around all the time, that’s called stalking and I’m pretty sure there’s laws against that.”

 

“But I can follow you better than 2999 anonymous online people can,” Sherlock said grumpily. John raised an eyebrow.

 

“What’s this got to do with my followers?”

 

“Everything!” Sherlock cried, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “I don’t even know why your blog is so popular. It’s full of boring posts about me, like Lestrade said, so there isn’t any reason why people would want to follow you! It’s a mass effect! One person does it, and then another, and another, and soon you’ll have a bunch of people who just follow you for no reason, and nothing you say or do will have any effect on your life, unlike the first person who followed your blog when you were a loser, because they actually liked the content!”

 

“Hold on a minute,” John said, narrowing his eyes. “First of all, did you just call me a loser? And secondly, _you_ were the first person to follow me when I started to seriously make posts everyday for the cases you solve.”

 

“Exactly,” Sherlock grumbled. “I’m a real fan!”

 

“Oh my god,” John said, his mouth slowly curling into a grin. “This is so not happening. You’re jealous. You were jealous this whole time!”

 

“So what if I am?” Sherlock protested.

 

“Good grief, you sound like those annoying fans who feel the need to ‘defend’ their game or TV show or comic to new fans. Are you three years old?”

 

“Go on, laugh,” Sherlock sniffed. “See if I care about you making fun of my dedication.”

 

John howled and slapped his knee, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “This is too good,” he snickered. “Sherlock Holmes, jealous. I think the world has ended and I’ve gone to an alternate reality!”

 

“ _I_ don’t have to stand for this abuse,” the detective grumbled with as much dignity as he could. “At least my experiments won’t laugh at me.”

 

“Okay, okay, I’ve had my fun. Stop being such a child, will you?” John smiled, catching Sherlock’s hand as the dark-haired man made to exit the living room. “For what it’s worth, I am very glad you decided to follow my blog when I was a nobody online, okay?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really,” John laughed. “C’mon now, don’t mope. Why don’t you ‘follow’ me into the kitchen and we’ll make meatloaf for dinner?”

 

“…that sounds reasonable.”

 

“Good. Are you going to jealous again?”

 

“… I won’t be if you give me a kiss.”

 

“Hmm,” John said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “You know, there’s a feature on the blog that allows you to make posts, save them, and then publish them at a later time. It’s called queue.”

 

“So?”

 

“ _So_ ,” John smirked, darting past Sherlock and running into the kitchen. “I’m going to _queue_ you a kiss until you earn it! Now get your arse in here or you’re sleeping on the couch again!”

 

And really, who was Sherlock to keep his John waiting?

 

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> That’s it that’s the story.
> 
> Sherlock is jelly John has so many internet friends, and John is the elegant Internet idol. Done.
> 
> IT’S SO STUPID THAT THEY DIDN’T EVEN KISS IN THE END I HATE MYSELF.


End file.
